Also, my accommodations at these shows had often been either sleeping in a car at a rest area, camping, or sharing a hotel room with no less than 10 other people. While these are experiences I will always relish in a special way, the weekend of June 23 and 24, 2000 was a time when I would experience Phish in a totally different context.

Phish was playing in Atlanta and a friend of ours works at the Ritz-Carlton Buckhead (an Atlanta suburb). He procured us a room with a splendid view of downtown, valet parking, and club level access all for what we would probably spend on a Quality Inn. There were also rumors that the band was staying in that same hotel. When we arrived in Atlanta on that gorgeously hot summer afternoon, we saw a maroon and silver bus right out front of the hotel. 

The doorman informed us that that bus was indeed Phish's and that they planned to leave for Lakewood Ampitheater within the next half hour for sound check. After our attendant welcomed us all by name and showed us to our room, we hightailed back downstairs to see if we could give a phat shout out to the boys. We didn't really get to party with the guys or anything, but we got to witness a side of the band that I would think only a few people get to see.

As we waited, a scruffy balding somewhat short man emerged from the bus. It was Page. We all said hello to him and my brother wished him good luck for the show tonight. He replied, "Thanks, we'll need it." as if putting on an adequate show was somewhat of a chore. I also let Page see my shirt, which simply read, "Have Mercy" I had made this shirt and wore it as a campaign for them to do this song. It was interesting because Page and ourselves seemed to be the scrubbiest looking guests at this prestigious hotel. We all looked out of place in the palace of southern belles and their gentlemen. 

A few minutes later, Fishman came out of the hotel with two Japanese women. They had recently returned from their Japanese tour. Those three entered the bus all smiles with Fishman murmuring inaudible comments to them which were apparently humorous. A minute or so passed and Page came out of the bus once again, this time he looked intent on something and a little hurried. He ran in the hotel and a few minutes later returned with Mr. Mike Gordon. 

Mike looked like he had totally just woken up and was eating an apple rather methodically. As they both got on the bus, my brother turned to them both and saluted them with the "devil horns" (I think this is also the sign language gesture for "I love you") the heavy metal salute with the thumb, pinky, and index finger extended. As he did this, he shouted "Rock 'N Roll!!!" as if to commission them to go now and please rock 'n roll gods by putting on a good show. 

Page and Mike stared blankly at this display of exuberance which would have been more apropos to an encounter with Lynyrd Skynyrd than to one with Phish. They shrugged, entered the bus, and left for the venue.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in the club level which was pretty much like a big posh living room. We barely made the 5 O'Clock wine presentation which was a healthy spread of European and American wines, as well as real French Champaign. We put the hurt on a couple of bottles, which when emptied were magically replaced by Ritz attendants. We also got our grub on to the tune of strawberries and cream (only big, plump strawberries mind you), cheesecake (ha, ha), and salmon and caviar sandwiches.

In the traffic jam on the way to the show, my buddy Tony was able to score a ticket for a Deer Creek CD and a little cash. We had brought with us a little of the good old Lucy in the Sky, and we figured, in lieu of the days events so far, that we should each take a double dose. The show itself was awesome, but the highlight was surely the second set opener. 

They busted out with Velvet Underground's "Rock 'N Roll." As soon as those first chords were struck up, I turned to my brother with a look like, "Holy Shit!" Although we had not asked them to play this song, the words "Rock 'N Roll" were clearly expressed to them. 

In our mental state, they were clearly doing this song as a result of our interaction that afternoon. Also, the next day, they sound-checked Have Mercy, although I was unfortunately not at the lot early enough to hear it. In all, this was the closest I've ever felt to the band. What makes art special is the interaction of the artist and the audience. 

On many occasions, it feels like the songs they play are perfect for that situation. On this night, I felt as if they were playing a song especially for me and my friends, and that there was no one else in the crowd who "got it" in the way that we did.